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Sunday, 10 December 2006 (real shot down) 2:49pm My upstairs neighbors have moved out (mostly), and the "For Rent" sign is gone from the window. Haven't met the new people yet, whoever they are, and I don't know when they're moving in. I don't suppose it matters. Dragged my sneezing, overly made up and tophatted ass out of the house last night to go to a friend's party. Didn't stay too late, and a few people were pretending I wasn't there at all. It was kind of fun watching them make a point of not looking at me, even when they were a few feet away; it brought to mind how astronomers detect extrasolar planets by observing how their gravity affects the star they orbit. Science! I finally got a chance to hang out with Jen Collins and Fresh (who don't read the papers) for more than two minutes. That was quite nice.
Sister Dora was in Oakland at rehearsal for the revived Black Mass. She was going to be joining me at the party, but I left around midnight while she was still across the Bay. She eventually came straight
back to the Black Light District, then left again early this morning to prepare for Nude Aid.
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Saturday, 9 December 2006 (stumbling into the valley) 6:31pm The Queer Open Mic was great last night, though I expended more energy than I should have, as will happen when I go into Dancing Monkey mode. My voice was pretty much gone by the time it was over, and my cold started to reassert itself. It didn't help that, after a fabulous meal at a hit-or-miss Chinese restaurant, Vash and I returned home last night to find the heater in my room had died. One of my boots was already off by the time the discovery was made, and putting it back on to head out into the rain to find a Walgreens that was still open felt waaay too daunting, so we bundled up as best as we could. Not what my body needed, though.
This morning, I went to Kaiser to have blood drawn. I'd actually wanted to do so on Tuesday, but I couldn't find the paperwork. It was in the trunk of my car, and the
fact that it isn't waterlogged by now is a miracle. If all goes well, the labwork show that I'm disease-free (quoth Sister Edith: spit or swallow, but don't gargle) and that my body is handling the increased levels of
estradiol just fine. I'm then going to take my endoc up on his offer to switch me to injections. A self-administered shot every two weeks sounds a hell of a lot nicer than
a gallon of pills every morning and every night, which has gotten old after eight years. There's the possibility of an emotional spike, perhaps similar to
my spiral in September after my estradiol was increased, but that's okay. If my body can take it,
so can my heart.
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Friday, 8 December 2006 (how to use this weapon) 8:00am I'm officially a part of Team Loper. My first article will go live on Monday. My mom probably won't be too thrilled that I use the word "shit" in the opening sentence, but hey, she's read worse by me. 5:17pm Speaking of teams, there's something I've always been curious about regarding the blue team: do they serve water or Gatorade?
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Thursday, 7 December 2006 (don't get around much anymore) 2:11pm Sunday afternoon, Jezebel and I were leaning against a railing (me against the railing, her against me) at Fifth and Market, waiting for the bus. A fellow with a camera spotted us and did what they usually do when encountering exquisite creatures dressed in shiny black: he asked to take our picture. Actually, they don't always ask. Usually they just got ahead and take the picture like the good junior anthropologists they are. Anyway, we declined. Broke his heart. A few minutes later, a little man with a thick moustache, thicker Southern accent, and what Jezebel referred to as DSL (dick-sucking lips) stopped in front of us and said: damn, that's the sexiest thing i seen all day! can i have a kiss? Not expecting to be turned down, he proceeded to pucker up. Jezebel said no, so he looked at me and said what about that one?. Responding far too politely, I merely shook my head. As he stomped away, he k'vetched: you fucked up my whole day! Um, yeah. Unlikely. A few stops before ours, a man got on carrying a empty birdcage. He needed to transport the cage from Point A to Point B, and the bus was how he was doing it. Whatever. All good. So a fellow already on the bus says in a good-natured but loud voice: that's a pretty bird! There are a few rudimentary chuckles around him, and his face brightens. As the bus passes a Starbucks, he said: wow! look! a starbucks! (Y'see, there's a shitload of 'em in this town—there are three in the immediate vicinity of my office, and Jezebel just got hired for a new one—so he was being ironic.) More rudimentary laughter, including a woman sitting next to him. He turns to her and exposits: i'm a funny guy! wanna know why i like to make people laugh? because i like to HEAR them laugh! Huh. I would have guessed a desperate need to be loved, like it is for the rest of us amateur comedians. All the same, I may never make a joke again.
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Wednesday, 6 December 2006 (feedback inhibition) 10:19pm Since she was recently similarly sick (along with Vash and most of the people at my office and pretty much the entire human population) and thus had no fear of contamination, Jezebel spent the night. We made salad and fried biscuits and started on Battlestar Galactica, making it through the miniseries and the first episode of the series proper. Did make it back to work today. I'm not exactly better—I may even be a little worse—but there's a lot to be said for saving one's sick days for the really rainy days. Wrote what will hopefully be my first Medialoper column. So one day at recess, probably first or second grade at the most, I wrote or drew something vaguely obscene. I have no idea what it was. A kid who passed as my friend (hey, Mattilda's right, nobody passes!) called over the...um...what did they call the big scary women with feathered hair who patrolled schoolyards in the late seventies? Whatever she was called, her brought her over and told her what I'd done. At the time, it didn't even occur to me what a rat-finkish thing this was for a friend to do, and I didn't hold it against him at all. Yeesh. That's a pattern which I'd stick with for entirely too long. Anyway, by the time she'd gotten over to the table, I'd erased whatever it was. She asked me what I'd drawn, and of course I said nothing. She told me that in the office they had a machine that could reveal pencil marks which had been erased, so I'd better just fess up now, which I did. Caved in like the underground garage of the North Tower.
She didn't take the paper in to be run through the infernal machine, and I've never heard anyone reference such a thing ever again,
which raises the question: is there a device like that, or was it just another example of an adult lying to a child? My money's
on the latter.
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Tuesday, 5 December 2006 (things we said today) 11:41am Called in sick. It's not playing hooky; I have developed the same icky-throat cold that everyone else around me has been getting. Besides, there's nothing on my plate at work, and a day of minimal exertion sounded very nice, especially for as much as I've been running arond this past week and a half. And everybody else does it, so why can't I? Neener.
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Monday, 4 December 2006 (euthymic violet) 9:20am See? Toldja. 2:10pm I used to be convinced that one of the reasons I got downsized from CNET was because I accepted the raises that they offered, and as a result I priced myself out of the job. Thus, ever if I ever found myself in a similar position (as though a job like that would ever exist again), I would not accept any raises. Well, that was a long time ago, wasn't it?
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Sunday, 3 December 2006 (reduction to reaction) 10:53pm Vash swung by for a little while on Thursday evening just to say hi. We then went out to dinner, and she ended up staying the night. After spending most all of my free and not-so-free time on it this past week, I got the fashion essay submitted at about five on Friday afternoon, even though it had that "abandoned rather than completed" feel. Vash picked me up from work, we went back to Wonderland, and then to a friend's party in Oakland. After breakfast Saturday morning, she dropped me off at the BART Station and I headed to San Francisco. All this time I was schlepping my laptop around in the hopes that I'd find some time to be productive. Never really happened. Back at the Black Light District, I took the opportunity to just relax, or at least not work. Drove to the Power Exchange around seven, then met up with Jezebel at the Artists' Television Access for Other Cinema, a series I don't go to nearly enough. This was one I simply could not miss, however, a release party for Rick Prelinger's The Field Guide to Sponsored Films. Afterwards, we went back to her place so she could change into more appropriately trashy attire, then headed to the Power Exchange. We were there until about five on Sunday morning, then returned to the Black Light District and slept until eleven. As best as we could, anyway; though she's always a tad needy, Perdita seems much more restless and love me! love me! when Jezebel's staying over than when it's Vash or just me. Still getting used to her, I suppose. We left around one in the afternoon to go lunch. While we were out, I jotted down as much as I could remember about the night before. I'm kinda behind on these things, as I still haven't transcribed and fleshed out my notes about last Saturday. The fashion essay took priority. (there's beauty in the darker corners of human behavior if you aren't presuming you'll find light.) We went back to Jezebel's place so she could shower and change clothes, as she was still in her PE-wear. I was also rocking the "last night's clubwear" look—yay shiny pants!—even though I had since changed clothes. We unintentionally but unsurprisingly crashed for a while, but got up in plenty of time to make it to The Dark Room for the revival of Bad Movie Night. I pounded out the schedule for the next few months with Jim and Erin, and the evening's feature (Jurassic Park III) was as not-good as I remember it. I'm so glad Bad Movie Night is back up and running. I've missed it. I left my laptop with Jim so he can load it up with software, dropped Jezebel off, and returned to the Black Light District. I really need to shower. Too tired tonight, the fact that I wrote the preceding paragraphs notwithstanding. I'll do it tomorrow, I swear.
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